


I don't want you to make me mad

by kittenmichael



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Additional Warnings Apply, Angst, Homeless!Ashton, Homelessness, How Do I Tag, M/M, Triggers, Writer!Michael, aka the bae, bad boy!calum, college student!luke, i tried not to make it cliché, i'm kinda aiming for vague you know, if that'll keep you safe and happy, if you think i might trigger you, luke is a complicated person, please contact me i'll gladly tell you the whole plot, please just try it or something, title from princes by oscar & the wolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 01:35:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3362903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenmichael/pseuds/kittenmichael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Luke's drunken mind convinces him it's a good idea to take the homeless boy he's been yelling at home. He takes him on an endless road of bending and straightening up and Luke realises that it's rather nice to switch sides for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr:   
> cutesymichael  
> like-a-star-drunk-nightsky
> 
> (how do links work here?)

The pavement was wet, covered with polluted rain and threatening to make him fall with every hesitant step he took. He swayed dangerously through the night, seeing every lamppost twice, every red light thrice and _not_  seeing past the end of every street at all. His way home seemed longer than usually, maybe because with every two steps he took forward, he took one backwards, and he had gotten lost at least four times since he left the bar.

Luke was drunk.

It had been a while since he last thought it fitting to drown his sorrows, knowing how prone he is to addictions. His phone kept buzzing in his pocket and even though he refused to read any of the texts or pick up the calls, he knew it was the only thing keeping him awake. The fresh air was supposed to sober him up, but the gentle dripping of the rain and the wind that wrapped around him had a stronger effect on him than any of the shots. The biting cold urged him to close his eyes and stop.

So he did, for a second, or a few, the squalls doing nothing to stop his swaying. His numb fingertips were digging in his thighs and it all felt _comforting_ , if not final.

“Sir, please, spare a penny.”

A shaking voice unwrapped him from his daydreams and Luke wanted to throw a fit and yell at whoever disturbed his long-needed peace, but he didn't. Luke never did. Instead, he slowly opened his eyes, scanning the street for any sign of life besides him and the cars that were speeding past him.

“I’m so cold, sir.”

The words were thrown into the night’s air with too much desperation and not enough hope. Luke followed them like breadcrumbs and landed upon a pair of chapped lips. There was a boy sitting against the wall of the back of a building. He was not curled up like Luke expected him to be in such cold weather and such thin clothes. He was on his knees, his head bowed and his hands folded in front of him.

“No,” he spat out, “you’ll only spend it on beer anyway.” His alcohol-induced bravery faded as soon as he actually said the words and the cold left them shaky and rushed. The boy shrugged, the gesture barely visible without a lamppost nearby. “Yeah, I am,” he said, all traces of submissiveness gone. He sat criss-cross and gave Luke a defiant stare. “It’s cold. I can’t feel anything.” Now it was Luke’s turn to shrug. “And how is that my problem?”

“Never said it was.”

Luke realised that this boy was drunk as well, albeit not as drunk as him. His fingers were shaking and it was not because of the cold. It was the adrenaline, rather than the alcohol, coursing through his veins.

“You’ve got some nerve, do you know that?”

Luke was over 6 feet tall, he walked with his shoulders hunched and said sorry more than any other word in his vocabulary. Luke was afraid of homeless people.

“I bet it’s your own goddamn fault you’re out here anyway.”

He felt so out of place tonight, as if he was captured in a bell jar. Someone was currently shaking it, messing up the scene until it was nothing like he was used to, until he was so dizzy he couldn't see straight. But he knew he couldn't blame anyone else tonight, for once in his life, he was at fault. His heart was beating loudly in his ribcage, the soundtrack to everything that had happened so far.

“Fuck off.”

The boy huffed, turning away from Luke. He was clearly done with the conversation now that he knew Luke won't give him any money. Luke wished he could make out his body language, but the lack of light left him in the dark. Without the aid of facial expressions he couldn’t tell of he was actually hurting this boy or not.

“Excuse me?”

For some reason, the boy’s attitude sent him over the edge, as if he was the one shaking everything up and sending make-believe snow down the sky, which was actually pathetic rain.

“I said, _fuck off_.”

Luke spat on him. He spat on him, because he was wearing a £60 coat and the keys to his apartment were jingling in his pocket, because he _could_.

The boy was weak. Luke doubted he could get up by himself. And so what if he did? What was he going to do? If Luke wenr to the cops, they’d arrest him without even asking questions. So he didn't say anything, just sat there, aware of the roles in this conversation.

Luke turned around, ready to leave his moment of bravery and all memory of this encounter behind.

“You don’t even know me.”

He rolled his eyes. The rain was still crashing down harshly and it was cold goddammit, this boy is annoying him. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep off the alcohol. Maybe call Michael, if he felt up for it.

“Is there that much to you then?”

“I don’t know, I think I can be quite nice sometimes.”

The boy’s voice was now no louder than a whisper and when Luke faced him, his shoulders were drooping. His words were accompanied by a shrug, inviting Luke to roll his eyes again.

“A week, I’ll give you a week,” he sighed. His coat weighed heavy on his shoulders, somehow making his eyelids even heavier. He was swaying on his feet, sick of getting tossed around by the wind. He longed for the warmth of his bed and the soft tap of his heating. He even missed the stains on his cheap, white duvets, but he was dreading every step it would take to reach his front door.

“What?”

Luke wanted to strangle this boy.

“You get a week’s time to prove to me that you’re not the scum I think you are.” Luke says, his tone menacing.

“Deal.”

“Alright, get up. We’re going home,” he said, already turning around to leave.

“What? I can’t go home with you. I don’t even know you,” the boy protested. He was sitting on his hands on knees now, startled by surprise. Luke thought about the rain drenching his pants and the gravel piercing his dirty skin. He just wanted to go home.

“I thought that was the whole point of this?” Every trace of hostility had left his voice. Now he just sounded tired. It felt like he was deflated. The snowflakes in his bell jar were done falling and now crunched under his feet, making him feel wrong, no matter what he did.

“I, I guess.” Luke glanced over his shoulder and spotted the boy pushing himself up. A muffled groan escaped his mouth when his leg gave out. “Are you sure about this?”

“If you say one more word I’m leaving you here,” Luke hissed. The rain had soaked his coat, the wetness making his shirt cling to his back. His glare was colder than the evening air surrounding both of them and sent a shiver down the boy’s spine.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.”

Luke turned around, catching the boy gripping the holes in the wall to get up. A series of whimpers tumbled, just like him, on the floor, but Luke had his back turned to them, so he wsa not obliged to help. The boy struggled to get on his knees, his breathing ragged and violent.

“Are you done yet?” He frowned at the shivers that made his whole body tremble. They were caused by the few drops of rain that had dripped down his neck. They were gnawing at his patience, making it smaller one second at a time. “Just a few seconds more, please.”

Luke rolls his eyes.

He knew why he was walking this fast and it was not the rain, nor was it the cold or the fact he was tired. Luke thought it was kind of nice to be on this side for once.


	2. Chapter 2

Perhaps Luke had put a little too much blame on the wind and the rain. Upon pushing the door of his flat open, finally safe from the ruthless winter weather, he discovered that the world hadn’t exactly stopped spinning yet. It had taken him precisely 7 tries to unlock his door, something the stranger had eagerly taken advantage of, using the waste of time to catch up.

Now Luke was kind of frozen in his doorway. He was leaning a little too heavily on the knob and the fact that the coffee table had six legs all of sudden was messing with his head. He was about to enter, his foot already hovering above the dark laminate, when it hit him.

“I can’t let you in. You’re a stranger.”

He didn’t bother turning around, could already feel the boy’s heavy breathing from several metres away. Could smell him, too.

“I-I, you, what?”

The boy could barely get the words past his chapped lips, dragging out his response in an agonising way. The whole ordeal was a struggle Luke would rather avoid, so he opted for the easy way out and asked him the classic: “What’s your name?”

They were both tired, after all. Luke’s mind clouded with the remnants of the shots he had downed, the other slumped against the dirty wall, bones heavy with exhaustion and malnourishment.

“Ashton,” he heaved. “The name’s Ashton.”

“Luke. There you go, we’re no longer strangers.”

Luke’s living room wasn’t exactly the neatest. There were half-open books scattered around, the occasional tipped-over chair making it rather hard to find your way around. The broken mugs were probably that tiny bit more dangerous though. His living room would have been peaceful and bright, had it not been for the dark whirlwind that stopped by at least once a week.

But it smelled like old books and spilled coffee, the air thick because he never opened any windows. There were several blankets here and there and over all, it just looked  _nice_. It was clean and  _his_  and besides several stains here and there, it was spotless.

And here Luke stood, too drunk to notice his favourite mug lying broken on the laminate, a stranger by his side. All of a sudden, Ashton’s stench was smothering, even more so than the stuffy air in his flat.

“Go stand in the light.”

Without questioning it, Ashton shuffled closer to the entrance of Luke’s flat. The light almost seemed to burn him, the beams weighing down heavy on his shoulders. His head hung low, his eyes squinting a little behind his greasy curls. There was something black on his lips, but Luke was too busy thanking god that his mouth was closed to care. His sweater was ripped and cut out too low, revealing his neck, which was tinted with a strange pink. Actually, it was all rather strange to Luke. With his fear of everything that wasn’t Michael (including Michael), he’d never been close enough to a homeless person to see their weird skin texture, or to notice that they smell like rotten eggs.

“You’re gross.”

Ashton shrugged, even though the movement seemed to pain him a little.

 

“I’ve been worse.”

Luke felt the need to fire back a sassy comment, like Michael always did, but he was afraid that if he’d open his mouth again, he’d throw up. Instead, he tore his eyes away from the yellowness of Ashton’s teeth and stepped inside his flat.

An ounce of regret was weighing him down though, pulling at his hair and all the places where it hurt. He felt comfortable in his flat, enough to lick the furniture if dared to, because everything was either  _him_ or  _Michael_.

He considered asking Ashton to sleep on the floor, but decided against it.

The couch was already stained and he could only pass his tests if he revised while lying on the floor.

It felt strange, or just plain  _wrong_  to have a stranger, someone who was not Michael or himself entering the flat. His parents had never been there, nor had his siblings. Apart from the occasional visit from Calum, the place was solely theirs.

 

Perhaps that’s where the unscratchable itch came from, the growing feeling in the pit of his stomach that appeared when Ashton set his first step inside. It came along with the skin crawling sound of Ashton’s shoes as they padded on the dark laminate. His wet, rubber soles. They peeped and creaked and Luke could only barely suppress the urge to grab a mop and sweep the floor and oh god if Michael-

 

“Take off your shoes.”

 

If Michael- If Michael saw him standing there in their living room with a trembling stranger by his side, crying over spilled milk, he would have been disappointed. He’d question him, whisper: “Where is my little Lukey?” ever so softly into the skin right below his left ear. Luke wondered when he started barking instead of mewling softly in that particular manner Michael always praised.

 

“You, you can use the bathroom, if you want.”

 

Ashton paused his movements, his hands still on his laces, which seemed to be rusted, what with how long he’d been fumbling with them. His lips parted again and Luke felt his stomach churn. Ashton was not allowed to say no. Not when things went the way Michael would want them to go and Luke finally found that softness he always used to make his boyfriend proud.

 

“It’s okay, I’ll just-”

 

“No. You can use the bathroom. But, but I’m going first.”

 

The words were rushed and Ashton looked taken aback by the urgency in his voice.

“Alright. Thank you, I suppose.”  

Luke nodded curtly, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

“I’ll go now,” he paused. “Just wait here, please, don’t touch anything.”

Before Ashton could respond he strode to the other side of the room, opening the door that led to both the bathroom and his room and disappearing behind the thick, wooden door. The sound of his bare feet touching the laminate felt comforting and familiar, something he could use in his drunken state.

 

He entered the bathroom without sparing the mirror a glance, instead opting for undressing in the shower and throwing the clothes over the glass walls before turning on the hot water. Time passed fast, or maybe it didn’t. Luke wasn’t even sure if any time passed at all.

His mind kept travelling back to the boy in his living room and the bell jar that someone should really start shaking again. Ever since his tiredness had hit its peak the snowflakes had stopped falling and every following action had led to an awkward tension. Tonight was stupid. It was lame and cliché, even if he’d never heard of someone taking a homeless person to their flat before. It felt wrong and that was all Luke needed to crawl out of the shower at last.

With his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his still wet skin, he opened the wooden door again.

Ashton was just standing there, his arms crossed over his chest in a pathetic attempt to take some sort of stance. His legs were trembling, knees jotting together with collisions that couldn’t be anything but painful, but he refused to sit somewhere.

How could he? After Luke had particularly asked him  _not_  to?

 _What an idiot_ , Luke thought, and turned around.

“Follow me.”

Luke hated how awkward Ashton made things. Like the sound of footsteps for example. It felt all weird now there were two pairs of feet. He opened the bathroom door without a word and dove straight into gathering some soap and a towel to avoid having to do so much as glance at Ashton. Luke just kept grabbing things, now having to clasp his hands to his chest to keep them from falling. He kept grabbing and grabbing, but at one point he had to turn around.

“Soap, towel, shampoo, conditioner, tooth brush, toothpaste, washcloth, hair brush, hair dryer, deodorant…”

Luke wondered what had happened to letting the stranger sleep on the floor.

“… Nail clipper, file, shirt, shorts, underwear.”

“Thanks, but, um, I think I’ll just take the tooth brush and the toothpaste and-“

“Ashton, I’m not letting you sleep on my couch if you don’t take a shower.”

Ashton nodded curtly, finally accepting the things Luke had been trying to push into his hands for at least two minutes now, careful not to let their fingers brush.

“Call me when you’re done.”

It felt strange, being the one who had the last word. He was already back into the living room by the time he realised he could get used to it.

He grabbed a pale blue blanket and threw some cushions on a pile at the end of the couch. With shaking hands, he removed the purple one and cleared the floor, organising the tipped over chairs and locking the front door. His iPad, laptop and several other things got moved to his room. Slowly but surely the room changed colour, going from Michael(andLuke)-induced purple and fiery red to Luke’s pure white shades locked away safely in cupboards and a hint of unknown painting the living room a soft blue.

He knelt on the floor, brushing some shards together with his bare hands. His chest throbbed when he recognised them as the remnants of his favourite mug.

“Luke? I’m done.”

Luke’s neck hurt when he tried to turn his head and nod all at once, but Ashton got the point. He dropped the shards.

“Good night, Ashton.”

He locked the door to the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> any opinions on the characters?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not too happy with this chapter, but i hope you'll like it anyway :)

Ashton was still asleep when Luke walked in that morning. Everything seemed a lot clearer now, as if the jar bell had been broken, releasing him from its grip. But now Luke was stuck with the snowflakes and the strange, most likely toxic, fluid that was dripping from the broken glass, namely the homeless boy on his couch.

The room didn’t look any different, apart from the fact that the table only had four legs now. All that was left from last night’s shots was a pounding head ache and a feeling in the pit of his stomach that warned him to stay close enough to the bathroom.

He poured himself a glass of water, wisely skipping breakfast and grabbing an aspirin instead. He wondered if he should get some for Ashton as well, seeing as the boy had obviously been drunk too. After hesitating for a few moments, he decided against it.

His eyes drifted towards the boy on his couch, curiosity taking the better of him. With the alcohol gone, his fear for homeless people had returned, but he was _asleep_  and Luke hadn’t had the chance to take a decent look at him the previous night. Besides, he had shown him nothing but generosity. He had given him a place to sleep and a much needed opportunity to clean up. This was the least he could ask for in return, right?

He tiptoed across the room, careful to avoid any broken glass he might have missed in his drunken haze, and dropped to his knees in front of the couch. It was stained all over, the colours varying from a sticky white to sickening dark red. It was the only reason Luke had allowed Ashton to sleep on it.

The first thing Luke noticed was Ashton’s smell. The street life’s odour still lingered, a nauseating mix of alcohol and dirty alleys and rotting food and rotting skin and rotting _everything_  that must have seeped into his skin after an undetermined time of sleeping on carton boxes. It had faded a little though, now slightly outshined by the familiar smell of Dove soap and strawberry, leading Luke to the realisation Ashton had used their strawberry shampoo, not the AXE one Luke had handed him. Ashton had used _Michael’s_  shampoo.

Luke had trouble willing down the anger that gnawed at his stomach, but did so anyway in favour of continuing his inspection.

Ashton was wrapped tightly in the blue blanket, despite it not being particularly cold in the flat. His long curls were falling in front of his eyes, and they bothered Luke because they weren’t _blond_  and they weren’t _brown_  and fell somewhere in between. Luke didn’t like in-betweens. He liked blond and brown and surely even fire-engine-red was a more natural hair colour than Ashton’s.

Luke decided to let it slide and moved on to the next thing that caught his eye: his skin. Even after the shower it was still blotchy, with dry patches here and there where the dead skin peeled off. It looked like it could be tanned, but something had robbed it of its colour and now Ashton was stuck with _that_.

Then came his lips, the only thing Luke was slightly familiar with, after seeing them somehow in the dark alley and hearing them crack when Ashton spoke. They were chapped and bleeding and his upper lip had split.

Luke couldn’t deny how addicting it was, inspecting Ashton’s body, trying to gauge what life was like out there. His fingers trailed down Ashton’s neck, discovering small bumps on his skin. He pulled his hand back in shock, his tips of his fingers tingling where he’d touched the boy. With his hand now clasped to his chest, as if he were the one who was wounded, he discovered more on Ashton’s skin.

Scales, blister and sores, all over his neck.

His eyes fleeted down Ashton’s body, until his gaze gets stuck on the spot where the affected skin disappears underneath Luke’s blue blanket. He ripped it off. This revealed Ashton’s hands, identical bumps and scales hidden in between his fingers. Luke shivered. He would have mistaken it for bad acne, had it not been for the infected sores. Despite how gruesome it looked, it awoke his curiosity. He leaned a little closer, his index finger ghosting over one of the little bumps, before moving to the skin surrounding the sores. The hand moved.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Ashton cradled his hand against his chest. His eyes were wide open, startling Luke with their teary shade of green.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

The words sent Ashton into a coughing fit. His shoulders shook heavily. Luke just stiffened, waiting for the coughing to subside.

“Excuse me?” He squeaked, his voice small compared to Ashton’s wheezing.

“I’m sick, you idiot! Don’t touch me!”

His exclamation was accompanied by more coughing and now Luke felt some spit land on his face. Luke screamed.

“Now you got it all over my couch!”

“I know, I know. Shut up!”

“Is it contagious? It better not be contagious, you fucker!”

He backed away from the couch, wiping his hands on his jeans in disgust. The spit was now all over Luke’s couch, and the gross skin rash had actually touched the blanket. What if he got it too? What if he got some deadly, contagious disease that would make him fail all of his exams? He opened his mouth, angry insults piling up in his mind, ready to be spat out, and-

Ashton sat down on the couch, his head resting in his hands.

“Yes, it is contagious. The skin disease, that is. I don’t even know what the coughing thing is. And that’s just two of them. You, you should see the rest of my body.”

The silence that followed swallowed all Luke’s anger, leaving him deflated and guilty and _choked up_. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking _fair_  that Ashton was homeless and sick, but was it really Luke’s responsibility?

“Maybe I should leave,” Ashton whispered. His voice was raspy, and he was still wheezing.

“Maybe you sh-“

“Luke! Lucas Robert Hemmings!”

They both turned their head. They looked just as surprised as the boy walking in.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you coming in,” Luke whispered, still stood awkwardly in front of the couch. “I can explain, Michael.”

“We’re not- I’m not-“ Ashton was stuttering now, something that went awful with his coughing.

Michael just looked at them, mouth agape, before cracking a smile.

“I know, don’t worry. You’d never cheat on me, would you Lukey?”

He walked over to his boyfriend, pulling him in a hug and kissing his forehead. Luke was still coming down from the shock.

“Luke?” Michael mumbled. It was all soft and innocent, breathed into the fabric of his sweater. “Lukey, surely you’re not-“

“Of course not, Michael. I’d never, you know that.”

They kissed then. Chaste yet long, and Ashton squished in a sigh between his coughs to express his relief.

Michael was the first to pull back, his red hair still trapped between Luke’s fingers.

“I just came because I wanted to apologise for breaking that mug.”

Luke melted. He dripped down Michael’s skin, clinging to his hands and fingers and _anything_  with an entirely new kind of cohesion. He would have fallen on his knees if it weren’t for the grip Michael had on his hips and the curve of his back.

“It’s okay. I know you can’t help it.”

Then, after pausing for a moment just long enough to take in the twinkle of Michael’s green eyes and just how plump his lips looked after kissing, he whispered: “Are you staying the night?”

“No, I’m not. I’m going out with Calum.”

Michael smiled apologetically, his grip on Luke’s hips tightening.

“Oh, okay,” Luke smiled back. “Tell him I said hi?”

“Anything for you, love.”

There was another kiss. Luke had to grab Michael’s shoulder to keep himself from falling. With more than the expected aversion, he detached himself from his boyfriend.

“Have fun with your new friend.”

“Ashton.”

“With Ashton.”

Both boys watched in silence as Michael left the room, his presence having been as bright as his hair. The air had changed. The kisses had melted Luke’s anger, melted Luke _entirely_ , so it was no surprise, really, what came next.

“You’re staying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts on michael?   
> if you comment, i'll love you forever! :)

**Author's Note:**

> [sweats nervously]


End file.
